As I was walking past the meat section at Giant this evening, I had one of my increasingly rare, fortifying flashes of anger. How hard and strong I'd be if I could be angry. I'd destroy cities. Or get a lot of cleaning done.
Then later tonight, I thought about how no one can fight all the time. Not even soldiers. There are skirmishes, battles, incursions, but then there's traveling and waiting. Most of any given day is spent not fighting. Only boxers in training fight for hours on end. Which made me think of the Simon & Garfunkel song. On the corner there's a boxer, and a fighter by his trade/and on his face he carries a reminder of every blow that laid him down/or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame/I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains.
Remains not fighting. Most of the time.
Then later tonight, I thought about how no one can fight all the time. Not even soldiers. There are skirmishes, battles, incursions, but then there's traveling and waiting. Most of any given day is spent not fighting. Only boxers in training fight for hours on end. Which made me think of the Simon & Garfunkel song. On the corner there's a boxer, and a fighter by his trade/and on his face he carries a reminder of every blow that laid him down/or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame/I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains.
Remains not fighting. Most of the time.
posted by Jean Luc Petard at
9:25 PM
1 Comments:
Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great.
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
By
Dr Yakalumpf, PhD, at 5:15 AM
Post a Comment
<< Home